


The Con Artist

by FloaromaMeadow



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: AU, F/F, danceshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloaromaMeadow/pseuds/FloaromaMeadow
Summary: Mai's used to losing everythingexceptcard games, and she doesn't intend to end that streak tonight.





	The Con Artist

Mai feels like one big walking ache.

Her heels are killing her, the straps digging into her skin in just that certain way that means she’ll have a nice little row of red strap-shaped imprints all down her feet come morning. She can feel her bra forming similar imprints across her shoulders and back— _a fashionable matched set,_ she finds herself thinking wryly. Her hair is pulled into an updo so tight that it strains against her scalp, and she’s spent so many hours with a smile glued to her face that the corners of her mouth are starting to twinge.

But the smile stays.

To her that smile feels sharp, feral, more like a weapon than an invitation, but the assholes with money have been lapping it up all night, so either the hard edge doesn’t show or they’re just into that kind of thing.

Who knows. Who cares.

There was a thrill to this, once. The deft flick of her wrist as she dealt her cards, the dozens of eyes fixed on her every move, the music, the lights…the crash of waves against the wall of her cabin when she finally collapsed into bed each morning, a constant reminder that with every second, no matter what else happened, she was moving farther and farther away from her old life…but at some point, when she wasn’t looking, the thrill slipped away. That’s how things always work, in her experience. The moment you get too used to something, get too comfortable, it’s snatched away from you in a heartbeat. Yet somehow, even as countless things had slipped through her fingers, she’d never thought she could lose that feeling.

Just goes to show…something. Oh, whatever. Look at her, getting all moody and philosophical when there’s games to win and rich morons to swindle. Job satisfaction or no, she’s got a living to make.

So she bares her teeth and lets her voice come out as a tiger’s purr. “Who’s ready to lose next?”

“Can I try?”

Mai quickly sizes up her next mark.

She’s seen this girl before, she’s sure of it. Big blue eyes in a heart-shaped face…a curtain of dark hair that sways with every tilt of her head, catching glimmers from the casino chandelier and dancing lightly over the tops of her bare shoulders… _dancing_ , that’s it, that’s why she looks so familiar. She’s one of the ship’s dancers. Off-duty, judging by the lack of the uniform leotard and feathers. Not to mention the fact that she apparently has enough free time to sit around and play cards.

It feels a little unfair to con a coworker, but hey, a mark is a mark.

“Be my guest,” Mai says, and the girl grins brightly and plops herself down at the table, looking for all the world like she might clap with excitement.

While Mai deals, the dancer babbles. By the time they’re halfway through the first round Mai’s heard her entire life story. Her name is Téa, she’s nineteen and fresh out of high school, and she’s from some city called Domino that Mai vaguely recognizes as the site of a tournament from a couple years back (she’d thought about entering, but at that point the casino had still held more of a draw for her than some cute little trading card game). “And I just _barely_ missed out on that scholarship, which _sucks_ because New York’s always been my dream, you know? But that’s why I got this job! I figured I could earn some money _and_ experience!”

“Mm.” Mai reaches for the deck and takes in a subtle whiff of air. “And has it been living up to your expectations?”

“Well…” Téa fidgets in her seat. “I mean, it’s rough being this far away from my friends, and the pay’s not exactly _ideal_ , and I kinda thought this job would be more about dancing skill and not…” Her mouth twists. “You know.”

“Believe me honey, I know.”

Her expression only stays dark for a moment before it brightens again. “But hey, at least I’m seeing the world! Sort of. Lots of people from around the world, anyway. And if I can just save up a little more—” She looks down at her hand for the first time in too long, compares it with the cards on Mai’s side of the table, and frowns. “Aw, I lost, didn’t I.”

Here’s the part that’s always key. If the mark gets too discouraged too early, then all Mai walks away with is one lousy payout. But if she can convince them to keep betting, keep raising the stakes, keep playing just _one_ more round…

“Don’t let it get to you,” she croons. “After all, no one’s an expert on their first try.”

Like a switch has been flipped, Téa’s nervously-bitten lip turns back up into a confident smile. “You know what? You’re right! Practice makes perfect, so bring it on!”

Huh. That was easier than she thought it’d be.

Mai must have been wrong about having already heard Téa’s whole life story, because the chatter keeps up all through the next round. She’d almost suspect it was some kind of ploy to keep her distracted, if it weren’t for the poor girl’s total lack of a poker face. She beams when she has a good hand, scowls when she has a bad one, and projects every move so transparently that Mai barely even needs to use her usual tricks (not that that _stops_ her from using them).

“You know, Mai,” Téa says halfway through the fourth game and her fourth loss, “you seem like a really nice person.”

Mai’s used to lying through her teeth without the slightest tell, but damn if those big earnest eyes don’t make the back of her neck prickle. “Do I, now.”

“Yeah! Way nicer than anyone else on this boat. It’s…been a while since I’ve really had anyone to talk to.” Her eyes seem to scan Mai’s face for a moment, and Mai wonders what she sees. “I know I’m no good at this game, but you’ve been really patient with me. So thank you.”

“Well,” Mai says, and feels her insides twist, “us girls have got to stick together.”

“We really do, huh.” She groans at her latest losing hand. “Okay, my paycheck can’t take much more of this. One more round and I’m calling it a night.”

Mai keeps her eyes fixed on the deck as she shuffles. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, she finds herself thinking, to take it easy on the poor thing, just this once. If Téa keeps this up she won’t have so much as a penny to save for New York, and—ugh, Mai’s actually starting to _root_ for her, isn’t she. This is ridiculous. She just has to look her in the face and—

And there’s something new in Téa’s eyes. A fire that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was there all along, and Mai just didn’t think to look.

A crowd gathers as for the first time all night—no, all week—no, since they left port—the unbeatable Mai Valentine starts to lose.

Téa’s face is alive with glee. “Am I _actually_ winning?” she crows, and if that’s supposed to be disbelief in her voice then Mai will eat her cards.

She flawlessly counters moves that had stumped her a round before. She blocks Mai’s increasingly desperate counterstrategies with a smile. Even the aroma trick isn’t enough to turn the tide. 

The crowd cheers—now _this_ is the kind of spectacle they signed up for this cruise for—as sweet little Téa whoops with victory.

“ _This_ donation,” she says, swiping her winnings off the table and flipping through the bills with a thumb, “will go directly to the Téa Gardner New York Fund.” She stuffs the money in her back pocket and beams.

Mai reaches for a snappy comeback, a graceful concession of defeat, anything, but her mind stays traitorously blank.

“And by the way…” Téa leans in, all wicked grin and sparkling eyes, so close that Mai’s heart stutters, and drops her voice confidentially. “I just _love_ your perfume.”

Then she twirls on her heel and skips off into the night.

The crowd mutters. Laughs. Disperses.

And Mai stays stock still.

Her cards hang limply in her hand. She should be angry. By all rights she _should_ be filled with fury and embarrassment and frustration, and maybe just a dash of grudging admiration. But instead she feels…she feels…

She doesn’t have a clue how she feels. The only thing she’s sure of right now is that she wants to hear Téa laugh again. She wants to see that smug sparkle in her eyes.

And that’s how she knows she’s in trouble. Because she never gets to keep the things she wants.

 


End file.
